I thought perhaps you were staying with them, as you did not seem particularly anxious to recognize your old friends. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. "But what is an oath to you!" cried the widow, distrustfully. She no longer felt sick or dizzy, her muscles returned to a relaxed, supple state.
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